


CYOA: The Case of the Laughing Siren

by fadeverb



Series: CYOA [2]
Category: In Nomine
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1270930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeverb/pseuds/fadeverb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're on the outs with your Superior, on the run from the law... And sometimes, in the strangest circumstances, love can still blossom.</p>
<p>Along with explosions. Sweet, sweet explosions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Choose Your Own Adventure story. Vote in the comments on the latest chapter for what our protagonist should do! All votes will stay open twenty-four hours or until five votes have been cast, whichever comes first. When voting is closed, it'll be noted at the end of the chapter. I will count _all votes_ made before deadline, so if you just can't decide between options, feel free to vote for both.
> 
> In the style of classic visual novels and dating games, there will be romance! There will be improbable plot twists! There will probably be an average, good, and best ending available!

In retrospect, you've made a few mistakes lately.

Really, anyone can pick up a note of dissonance. _Anyone_. You're almost sure it's happened to your Superior once or twice, in the long history of the War. (Come on. With a dissonance condition like that? How could it not?) So the first point, sure, that's a freebie. The sort of thing where you nod very earnestly at the Big Cheese and agree that, yes, this was your bad, very sorry, never going to happen again.

A few more points, well. Okay. Yes. More of a mistake. Especially given that you were trying to cover up for the initial problem--you've already established that the first one wasn't a big deal, in retrospect it was much less of an issue than it seemed at the time, compared to current events--and, okay.

Mistakes were made.

Let's be honest! By you. You. Made mistakes.

And now here you are, staring gloomily at the door across the street. A friendly ethereal (which should be a contradiction in terms, but apparently it's in their strands) gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and the address to this place.

"It could happen to anyone," they said. "You're not alone! Maybe it's for the best if you step out of this whole silly War that consumes your people and go spend a little time thinking about your own goals. Your personal image, and how best to meet it."

Then they went on to talk about a whole lot of other things that made very little sense. Ethereals, man. Who can understand them? Never mind that. You're here now. Across the street from what looks to be the world's worst bar. The sign is illegible, the windows are opaque with dust and graffiti, and the door is so grimy you're not sure you want to touch it with these hands.

The health score for a food-serving establishment, obligatory in California, has been pinned up in a window as required by law. You can just make out the giant blocky letter through the dirty glass. It got a C.

Well. It's not like you had a better plan for today. After a deep and bracing breath, you stride across the street to push open the door. And it's not like anyone can tell you're...

1) A Malakite of Creation, now Outcast. Awkward. Maybe Judgment doesn't know yet? That would be nice. You're hopeful on this point.  
 _2) A Renegade Balseraph of Dark Humor. Seven Forces seemed like so much before you hit corporeal duty! Then things got...confusing. And not very funny._  
3) An Outcast Mercurian of War. Is it so wrong to not want to die? You don't think so. You have a lot of strong opinions, in fact. Someone ought to listen.  
4) An Impudite of Nightmares, and proud of it! Despite the, uh, Renegade issue at hand. You went looking for love in all the wrong places. You don't want to talk about it.

**Voting is now closed on this option.**


	2. Chapter 2

_And it's not like anyone can tell you're a Renegade Balseraph of Dark Humor. Seven Forces seemed like so much before you hit corporeal duty! Then things got...confusing. And not very funny._

The door creaks. The day is overcast, and yet you're still letting light into this bar by opening the door. There are about a dozen people inside that you can see; more than you expected, if this is really a place _just_ for people on the outs with the celestial powers of this world. Maybe humans wander in periodically by accident? You've found that humans can do all sorts of stupid things by accident.

It's infuriating, really. When they do stupid things for good, solid, stupid reasons, you can plan for that. Set up great jokes. It works out so well, because whatever happens is clearly their own fault for being that dumb. But when they do stupid things you never would have predicted they would do, because even humans usually have standards, and that somehow screws up the whole arrangement you'd spent so much time on... There really isn't any such thing as a fool-proof plan. Humanity keeps building a better fool.

It's infuriating in theory. This afternoon, you don't feel so much enraged as morose. A bit worried. That whole "running Renegade" plan seemed good, but what if that decision, like some of the previous ones, was built on flawed evidence? What if you're _wrong_?

No. Of course not. You're brilliant. You're witty. Everyone else should be learning from you and your confident handling of a situation that went south through no fault of your own.

You smile broadly at the woman at the bar, and stride up to the counter. (A small voice in your head says it's a good thing no one in here can count Forces. You are almost entirely sure no one in here could do that, unless that's Eli sitting behind the bar, and that's...that's pretty unlikely, isn't it?) There's plenty of room for you to sit down like any other customer who entirely belongs in this place--why, it's like you're a regular here, with how much you belong--and surely that's the first step towards getting some information.

You are not quite sure what kind of information you're looking for, but anything would be better than skulking around feeling miserable, and then angry, and then miserable again. You are taking charge of your life! Here and now, in this place!

The barstool squeaks in an embarrassing manner when you sit down. There is nothing good to be found in naugahyde, especially ripped burgundy naugahyde covers to too-thin cushions. When you're running this place, or a place very much like it, you'll make sure that the seating only makes embarrassing noises at people who deserve it.

"So," says the bartender. She props her elbows on the bar, a dirty rag slung over her shoulder. She is wearing, improbably, overalls. You have never seen anyone tend bar in overalls before: yet here you are, and here she is, and this is the new reality of your life. "What are you having?"

She has sharp eyes. If you were not so entirely confident in your own rightness in this place, that might worry you. However, you aren't worried in the slightest. That lilt in the question, the knowing look? It means you're in the right place. She wants to know if you're looking for something more than beer, and, hey, you certainly are.

You say:

1) "Some ethereal told me that this is where all the interesting people hang out." This has the advantage of being true and direct. Bartender wants to imply something sidelong? Ha. You're above that kind of thing. You're a straight-shooter. That's what got you. (It wasn't your fault.)

2) "I heard some doll collectors meet in here. Is this the right day for that?" This Discord is driving you mad. Not quite literally, not yet, but it will if you don't get it shifted off you soon. Barring some demonling with a vessel showing and declaring it wants to be your familiar, a Discord Doll is your only real hope for fixing this.

_3) "Milk, on the rocks." You'd like to take in some of the local atmosphere before asking the sorts of questions that could incriminate you in a court of law. (Not that having evidence has ever mattered much to the Game, but there's such a thing as playing it too fast and loose.) And maybe it'll make some of these people wonder._

4) Nothing. Your mind has gone blank. You just walked into a bar full of Outcasts and Renegades. Terrible people who have done terrible things, and not for any good reason like a laugh. There is a spider walking across the bar, right past your hand, and no one seems to think this is a problem. What kind of place is this? What kind of people sit around in a place like this? What if the bartender is Eli? He's Outcast, isn't he? He could be right here. Ready to murder you with that rag. How did this ever seem like a good idea?

**Voting is now closed on this option.**


	3. Chapter 3

_You say, "Milk, on the rocks." You'd like to take in some of the local atmosphere before asking the sorts of questions that could incriminate you in a court of law. (Not that having evidence has ever mattered much to the Game, but there's such a thing as playing it too fast and loose.) And maybe it'll make some of these people wonder._

The bartender raises a single eyebrow at you. That probably means that you're coming across as a cool, collected customer. The sort of person who comes here all the time. Why, it's a little surprising she didn't recognize you when you walked in the door.

"One milk," she says, "on the rocks, coming right up." Her voice carries across the room, over the muted buzz of conversation, none of which pauses at the sound.

While she's searching through a fridge--the milk doesn't seem to be conveniently located--you twist around to see who else is in the bar.

At a table right near the door sit a man and a woman. Or at least, you assume so by fact that one of them is wearing a bow-tie, and the other wears a skirt. Their faces are identical, as are their military haircuts. They're in a quiet, fierce argument with each other, involving many vigorous hand gestures. When you look at them, one of them looks right back at you.

That was a little unsettling. You turn away.

In the obligatory shadowy back corner of the bar, a man broods shadowly over a glass of what is probably not milk. He does not look your way, as near as you can tell; the dark hair that slides over his face as he hunches at his table shadows his eyes further, and, well, shadowy. You're quite sure on that as the dominant theme of his corner.

Volume-wise, half the noise in the bar is coming from further down the bar, where two women are in a conversation far too cheerful for this place. The smaller of them has bright purple hair, duct-taped glasses, and is scrawling across napkins with a pen as she speaks. The woman sitting next to her nods periodically, and looks like she could throttle bears. There's no real _telling_ from a vessel whether or not a bear-throttling vessel is accompanied by bear-throttling Forces, but under the circumstances? Maybe you'll be a little bit careful around that one. There's a good half dozen empty beer glasses spread around them; apparently the bartender isn't very prompt at cleaning things up. Or at finding milk.

One man in a tidy pin-striped suit sits alone at a booth that's noticeably cleaner than the rest in this bar. A closer look, and you see why: there's a container of wet wipes sitting on the table, just past his drink and the bowl of peanuts. He _does_ notice you looking, and glares right back at you. Does not seem the friendly sort.

Wait. What if he's resonating you? What if he's an _angel_? Don't all those angels have creepy resonances that can _read your mind_ in different ways? That's pretty freaky. Are they like Lilim, where they need eye contact for that? You look away quickly--

Directly at a young man who's two seats away from you. He was _not_ there when you sat down. He wears chunky glasses and a thin red scarf and skinny jeans and oh god you are sitting next to a _hipster_. They let those into here! And you thought this place had standards!

"I remember when this place had standards," says the hipster, quite pointedly. "When I first started coming here, before it sold out--"

The bartender grabs the hipster by his scarf, and says, "Sold out to...?"

"...never mind," mutters the hipster. "Get me a Pabst."

"I still don't carry that," says the bartender. She slides a small glass of milk and ice cubes down the bar to you. "I have never carried that. I don't intend to ever carry that. Why would I carry that? Try to come up with a good reason."

You take a sip of your milk, and straighten your shoulders. The bartender hasn't assaulted you, or questioned your drink. Clearly you're doing very well here. And now that you have the size of this bar, you can...

_1) Play a hilarious joke! These people need to lighten up._ [If you vote for this option, include what the joke will be.]

2) Give that hipster a piece of your mind. Everyone will be so impressed by how you stand up to someone like that.

3) Ask those women at the end of the bar what they're talking about. They're drawing things! Maybe they know how to set up complicated pranks without...you know...those things. That happen sometimes. Which were not your fault.

**Voting is now closed on this option.**


	4. Chapter 4

_And now that you have the size of this bar, you can do something about that hipster._

"You're still drinking Pabst?" you ask the hipster, with the eyebrow-raise that you've practiced in the mirror for hours to get exactly right. "Everyone's drinking that these days. I thought this place was _authentic_."

The man with the chunky glasses eyes you suspiciously. It's like he doesn't even believe you, which is tragic. People would do a lot better in life if they just believed what you said. If everyone had just listened to you and done what you said when you told them, this never would have--

Oh, never mind that. You prop your elbows on the bar, and pick up your glass of milk. "A place like this doesn't serve Pabst," you explain, with great patience for this poor man's ignorance, "because that's not what the _real_ people drink. Milk, you know? Does a body good. I guess you hadn't heard yet. It's not really for the crowd the way beer is. It hasn't been ruined yet by everyone jumping in and trying it out just because they heard it was _popular_."

You have a sip of your milk. Delicious.

"...never mind the Pabst," the hipster says, turning back to the bartender. "I'll have milk. On the rocks."

You take a quick look around the room to see if anyone's noticed the way you've talked the hipster around. The larger woman at the end of the bar is snickering into cupped hands, while the small woman beside her just rolls her eyes. These are the _right_ sort of people you've found, here. They appreciate what happens you lend guidance to those who don't know how to think for themselves.

The bartender thumps a glass of milk down in front of the hipster, ice cubes rattling inside. "This is the sort of thing that happens when you're a jerk without prompting, Ross."

He picks up his newly iced milk, and stares at her, baffled. "What sort of thing?"

She shakes her head, and moves down the bar to scrub at what looks very much like a bloodstain. Probably just jam, or something like that. No one's assaulted anyone in here yet. Perfectly friendly kind of place.

And, oh, there's that interesting sensation spreading across your skin. You've just performed a Rite of your former Prince, and there's Essence just _waiting_ for you to take it, if you mean to. But you'd better make up your mind fast, while people are still contemplating what an idiot this hipster, Ross, happens to be.

1) You're dead low on Essence, and what could it hurt to do one little Rite? Kobal's busy, and bored with corporeal affairs in general. He'll never even notice.

2) You're dead low on Essence, but it's a dangerous world, and there's no reason to draw more attention to yourself. Best to let it pass by and wait for sunset. There's only a few hours left to go.

3) You're nearly full on Essence anyway. Who cares about Rites attached to a Word you don't even serve anymore? Careful use of limited resources, that's the key. You're too smart to get caught in a trap like that.

_4) You're nearly full on Essence anyway. But how can you resist another taste of that Word you still serve deep in your heart, even if you don't strictly serve it with your Heart anymore? Some day, you'll set the record straight. You never really left; things just got...complicated. It'll be cleared up sooner or later._

**Voting on this option is now closed.**


	5. Chapter 5

_You're nearly full on Essence anyway. But how can you resist another taste of that Word you still serve deep in your heart, even if you don't strictly serve it with your Heart anymore? Some day, you'll set the record straight. You never really left; things just got...complicated. It'll be cleared up sooner or later._

You inhale happily as that Essence settles in. Seven Essence in total, and the approval of your Prince. Who could ask for anything more?

So maybe that ethereal was right. This is the right place to be, at the right time, with the right people. Just look at this room full of potential friends, rivals, and targets. You've never actually had a good rivalry going, but your old significant other used to have the greatest fun with theirs. (Up until the incident in the spray-cheese factory, anyway.) One of these people might be exactly the sort of person you can pit your wits against in a passionate, long-running rivalry that will show off the best of your comedic skills.

You wave your glass of milk at the hipster. "Ross," you say. "That's your name, right? You've been here longer than I have." That'll make him feel better. He was a fan of this bar before it sold out and got too popular. "Who's worth talking to around here?"

"There's the Collector," Ross says immediately. "But good luck getting an interview with _them_." He sniffs as you glance around the bar. "No, they're not here. They don't come in until sunset."

You might as well stick around until sunset. It's only a few hours off, and you don't have a lot else to do. "In that case, who around here _isn't_ worth talking to?"

"Mx. Amelia," Ross says, nodding to the bartender. "Because she's a Seraph, and what you say can and will be held against you in--"

"Not in a court of law," says the bartender, who you are now viewing in a whole new light.

"Yeah, whatever," Ross says briskly. "Still. Don't say anything around her that's particularly secret, though she's usually not enough of an asshole to call you out on lies."

"No worries there," you say. It's not like you tell lies. "Who's that down at the end of the bar?"

Ross rolls his eyes. It's quite possibly his favorite expression. "Quintina's the little one, she's fine, whatever. Just don't hassle her or Maureen will rip your arms off."

"Maureen would be the big one?" you ask. Not as quietly as you thought, or maybe that woman (Djinn? Maybe a Cherub?) has great hearing, because she waves cheerfully in your direction.

"Yeah. What, you want me to talk about _everyone_ in here?" Ross rolls his eyes again. You wonder idly if there's a Song that could make someone get into an uncontrollable eye-rolling loop. "Bill's the guy doing the dark and mysterious thing in the corner." He waves at the man at the shadowy table. He does not get a wave back. "And he has a decent sense of humor, unlike his competitor for local brooding, Benedikt."

"I heard that," says the man who is dressed far too formally for this bar.

Ross turns around on the bar stool. "Yeah, and I wasn't trying to make you _not_ here it, because if you're going to be like that no matter what--"

"What about those two by the door?" you ask, because while you're sort of interested in seeing that fight happen, you're more interested in getting the run-down on the locals before your temporary friend stops being useful to you.

"That's Taylor," says the hipster.

"Which one?"

"Both."

"They're both called Taylor?"

"No, they're both Taylor."

"You're not being very clear," you say. You believe strongly in clarity of information flow. If there's going to be a lack of clarity, it should be deliberate, and have delightful results. This is just annoying you.

But before this can turn into some sort of Who's On First routine, a door slams. From the back of the bar, even, and every single person in the room turns to look that way.

The woman who enters is neither tall nor short. Not particularly attractive or unattractive. She's not white, but you couldn't name any other ethnicity for her either, and...in fact, you don't think you could describe her at all. She has the look of a perfectly generic human being. A lot of humans look alike; she looks more alike than most of them. The only striking thing about her is the bag she has slung over one shoulder. It's an artifact of some sort, though you can't tell what kind.

"We have a problem," she says to the bartender, Mx. Amelia. "Incoming. I'd give them three minutes before they're in surveillance distance."

"Which side?" asks the bartender, even as she's hauling a shotgun out from under the bar.

The new woman to enter shrugs. "Like it matters. I'm heading to the basement exit."

"I'm coming with you," says Ross quickly, and he knocks his milk over in the rush to scramble away from the counter and towards that woman.

"We're going out the back," says the larger woman, Maureen. She's saying this to her tiny friend, Quintina, who's already stuffing napkins into her pockets. "Taylor?"

"Out front," says one of the twins by the door.

"We might as well meet them head on," says the other.

"If they're just doing surveillance, we can warn them off before they confirm anything," says the first.

"Wouldn't mind another set of eyes," says the second.

The two brooders-over-drinks, Bill and Benedikt, exchange unfriendly looks.

"I'll stay here," says Bill. "Amy, you want backup?"

"If it's offered, I'll accept it," says the bartender. "And don't call me Amy."

"These are always false alarms," says Benedikt. He straightens his tie, and settles back down in the booth. "Do let me know if any _real_ threats appear."

Everyone else seems to know what they're doing. But this isn't quite what you thought you were signing up for, walking in here.

[Note: this option sets you on a particular romantic plotline, or subset of plotlines. You may switch to another romance option with any character later on, but it'll be more difficult to get a Good Ending for it that way. It also sets your basic stats.]

1) You may as well follow Ross down into the basement. He seems to know the area, and if this unnamed woman is the Collector he mentioned before, well, that sounds like a useful person to know. Besides, basement exits are exciting! And you'd like to hang out with someone who's so easy to talk around to your point of view. [This sets you on Ross or the Collector's plots, and your stats to 2/2/3.]

_2) When danger's heading for the front, head out the back. Basic safety principle. Besides, Maureen and Quintina seem like they're having more fun than anyone else in this place. They're the smart folks, and the right sort of people to spend time with. [This sets you on Maureen and Quintina's plot, and your stats to 2/3/2.]_

3) You can prove yourself a useful member of this community! (Easier to set things up later, that way.) Might as well go see what's up with the Taylor twins, and lend them a hand. You're good at that sort of thing, and someone ought to appreciate that. [This sets on you Taylor's plot, and your stats to 3/2/2.]

4) Three people inside the bar is a majority. The majority feel that this is the place to stay. Clearly, you'll be safest hanging out with the people who stick together. And you'd rather not go running any further than you already have today. [This sets you on Bill or Benedikt's plots, and your stats to 1/3/3.]

**Voting on this option is now closed.**


	6. Chapter 6

_When danger's heading for the front, head out the back. Basic safety principle. Besides, Maureen and Quintina seem like they're having more fun than anyone else in this place. They're the smart folks, and the right sort of people to spend time with._

You catch up with the two women just as they're getting to the back door. Maureen smiles down at you, but it's not an entirely friendly expression. "You're sure this is where you want to be, kiddo?"

"Don't be mean," says Quintina. She slaps on a pair of sunglasses with suspiciously thick frames. "Give me thirty seconds to get a clear reading on the far side of the door--"

Maureen flings the door open.

"--or we could do that, sure," Quintina says. "That works too. Good thing there was no one lurking there."

"The Collector would've said so." Maureen is made of good cheer, and no longer seems the slightest bit put off by your presence. "Everyone, double time! I know the way and I'm taking point. Stick close and shriek if you see something dangerous."

You have to jog to keep up as these two people stride away through the alley behind the bar. (The area is filthy, but, huh. Not smelly at all. You're beginning to realize how much of this disrepair is a deliberate front. Namely, nearly all of it. Not hard to see why Benedikt would bring wet wipes, though. Even deliberate filth is filthy.) Maureen has enormous steps, and Quintina's surprisingly fast on her feet, despite being shorter than you. "So," you pant, as you catch up with them, "do you know what we're up against?"

Quintina puts two fingers against the side of her sunglasses, and scans the overcast sky. "No hostiles in the air. Maybe not Judgment, then."

"Nothing stops the Game from putting their people in bird vessels," Maureen says. "Or anyone _else_ , for that matter, if someone's looking for a particular target..."

They both turn and look at you speculatively. It would make you feel nervous, except that of course you've made the right decision. Why would you follow anyone other than the best person out of that bar?

Best people. Whatever.

"Well, one for all and all for one," Maureen says, and offers you a hand. Shaking it seems like a good plan, and she doesn't crush your hand when you do. "Stick close! Do you know who's coming in the front door? Anyone following you?"

"Nope," you say promptly. "I wasn't followed."

"I blame Ross," Quintina says. "I don't know why we even let him hang around there."

Maureen claps her on the shoulder. "Because we're angels! We're the good guys! We're all accepting and tolerant and that kind of shit. Right?"

"Right," says Quintina, sounding a little dubious. "Back to the apartment?"

"Nah, let's change first." Maureen squints out into the street. "Coast looks clear. Walk casual like."

She saunters out into the wide open street; Quintina follows, and, well, so do you. _Casually_. You are the most casual walker in the world, and it's really a nice day, aside from the lack of sunshine. (You didn't want sunshine anyway!) You walk right across the street, keeping an eye on the few pedestrians in view... But none of them look any more suspicious than you do. A small group of teenagers laughing together as they walk along, a woman refilling her SUV at the gas station, some dog-walker waiting patiently for her dog to pee on a ratty patch of grass. Very ordinary.

You all end up walking into the gas station's convenience store, and heading straight for the back. Maureen and Quintina walk directly into the women's restroom. As for you...

1) It's convenient that you were sent here in a female vessel. While no human body can really feel proper, compared to your true form, this one seems the most right of the options available. You follow them in to see what they meant about changing, and wonder if you should've swiped something from the rack of hats and t-shirts near the door. Maybe a baseball cap? You could tuck your hair up under that. It's like a disguise.

2) It's inconvenient that you were sent here in a male vessel. People are going to look at you oddly if you follow the women into that room; that's attention you don't need during this daring escape sequence. But it's not like Maureen and Quintina going to ditch you, are they? Never. They seem perfectly reliable. You shove your hands in your pockets, and hang around outside the bathroom door, looking nonchalant.

3) You have to think a moment to remember what kind of vessel they gave you. Male? Female? You've never been much concerned with these things. Humor knows neither sex nor gender! (Though sex itself can be awfully humorous, in the right hands.) Well, it's probably close enough, either way. You follow them into the bathroom.

4) That would be the disadvantage to hanging out only with women; they're going to forget that men like you stand out differently. But who's going to stop you if you follow them inside, anyway? Humans? (Pfft. Humans.) You put on a winning smile, and stride into the bathroom behind them, exactly like you belong. Which you do, because Maureen did say to stick close, not "stick close unless we head into something that humans have put ridiculous and arbitrary restrictions on that happen to reference your vessel in some way."


End file.
